


Lightning Strikes

by mind_and_malady



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Gabriel, Light Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, Pancakes are becoming my own personal trope whoops, Plot What Plot, Storms, Top Sam, mentions of Destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_and_malady/pseuds/mind_and_malady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam likes watching thunderstorms. He likes watching Gabriel break just a little bit more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightning Strikes

**Author's Note:**

> The title stemmed from the song "The Lightning Strike" by the Neighborhood, which I had playing on repeat while I wrote this. (And my other Sabriel fic, now that I think about it...). I apologize for weird tagging, but I'm not sure exactly where the line for Dom/Sub and Light Dom/Sub is, but it felt like that was what this was, based on other fics I've read. If you know what it technically classifies as, please leave a comment telling me so I can re-tag the fic accurately. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!

The rain pours down, fast and furious. Sam can hear it beating at the roof, the walls, the windows. He can hear the wind screaming out its fury at the world as it rips across it. There’s thunder, loud and long, like a tank the size of the Pacific was raking across the sky. It’s interrupted by enormous cracks of lightning as they shred the sky and vaporize the air.

Sam finds himself standing in the doorway of his motel room, door open so he can watch the storm. The world smells of ozone and rain and dirt, and the wind threatens to steal the air from his lungs. Sam watches, exhilarated by the storm as it drags itself across the sky. He’s never been afraid of storms – when he was little, he was curious, and then it turned to fascination, developing until he felt only awe-struck and amazed by the sheer power of it. No matter the age, he can remember Dean pulling him away from doors open to the weather, closing them tight, talking about salt lines. Sam wonders, sometimes, if Dean was more afraid that he would walk out into the storm and be the one in a million to get fatally struck by lightning.

Dean’s not in here tonight, but Sam suspects that if he were, Dean would drag him away from his storm. Instead, Dean is with Castiel, a few rooms down, and Sam is alone. He’s gotten pretty clever when it comes to maintaining salt lines on storm nights, though, and the salt is very much in place on the little frame above the door. He has the demon-killing knife on the table by the door as well, so he calls himself as safe as he can get, and lets himself get lost in watching.

“Didn’t take you for a storm watcher,” Gabriel says from behind him. Sam smiles slightly, but doesn’t turn around.

“Only when they’re like this,” Sam murmurs, eyes tracing the pattern of lightning left behind from where it ripped open the sky.

“Like what? Violent? Dangerous?” Gabriel throws the words around and Sam can almost hear the eye roll.

“Beautiful,” Sam corrects. “Honest.”

Gabriel quiets, leaning against the door with his body angled towards Sam. Sam can feel Gabriel’s eyes own his face, watching every flicker of joy, every moment of near-rapture, every exhilarating breath. The wind shifts angle and suddenly Sam is getting hit with a fine mist of rain that comes from whatever hits the roof. He closes his eyes and his mouth falls open slightly, water brushing over his eyelids and his cheeks like the barest brush of a feather. Sam wonders if Gabriel will get angry if he walks out into the parking lot, stands in the middle of the angry rainfall and the screeching wind.

“Don’t even think about it,” Gabriel says warningly, and Sam laughs very quietly.

“I won’t,” Sam promises, and lets the idea go. His hands find a home in his pockets, until Gabriel drapes himself against Sam’s side and buries his head in Sam’s shoulder, draws out his hands to play with his fingers. Sam turns his hand and entwines Gabriel’s fingers with his own, and Gabriel lets out a small sigh of contentment.

“Sam,” Gabriel says his name quietly, and Sam looks away from the storm to look at his angel, standing barefoot next to him in the doorway. Gabriel’s eyes are dark and rimmed with gold. He looks content, almost happy, and some of the Trickster mask he wears has faded away. Sam runs his thumb over the back of Gabriel’s smaller hands comfortingly. Gabriel doesn’t normally _do_ cuddling, unless he feels like sleepy or he’s in a post-orgasm haze, and Sam’s a little worried about the break in pattern, but he lets it go for now. He traces sigils and words onto Gabriel’s hand with his thumb, and watches the storm as it peaks and ebbs and peaks again.

It fades, eventually. The wind dies down to a sharp, unhappy rustling, and the rain softens its blows. Thunder rumbles, short and farther in the distance, but the lightning flashes are still visible. Gabriel tightens his grip on Sam’s hand, and Sam looks down at him. He’s breathing deep and slow against Sam’s arm, but his eyes are open and wide awake. They simply watch each other for a long time, until lightning crackles across the sky and the wind picks up a little, and then Sam kisses him.

It’s deep and open, slow but unceasing. Gabriel tastes like a lightning strike and falling rain, and Sam gets lost in him. He cups Gabriel’s face, and Gabriel grips the back of his neck, with their free hands, one set still entwined together. Sam kisses Gabriel until he can’t breathe, and even then he doesn’t go very far, breathes into Gabriel’s hair while the angel traces sigils on his neck. It sends little electric tingles through Sam, like Gabriel is injecting his lightning into Sam’s blood. He kisses him again, just as slow but a little harder, and Gabriel’s the one who shivers.

Sex with them is normally hard and bruising, fierce and unrelenting, though that’s been changing recently. Sam has found a special kind of pleasure in taking Gabriel apart, piece by piece, until he’s shaking and making perfect little mewling noises. Sam’s found that he likes to _break_ Gabriel, break him _properly_ , and that he likes putting him back together again just as much. Gabriel likes it too, though Sam thinks that if they did it every time, Gabriel would lose his mind, and Sam has to agree. Neither of them possesses the proper amount of patience to do this all the time.

Sam lets the kiss drag, uses it to slowly move them so Gabriel is held against the doorframe, and he leans on it like he needs the support. Sam trails his free hand away from Gabriel’s face, down his sides to play at the skin just under the hem of his shirt. Gabriel whimpers, their lips separating as Gabriel looks into Sam’s eyes with _trust_ and _love_ and _faith_ , and Sam comes to the realization that Gabriel _wants_ to be broken, wants _Sam_ to break him, because he has faith that Sam will put the pieces back in the right order.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” Sam says to Gabriel reassuringly, moving them away from the door and shutting it behind them. He kisses Gabriel slowly, moves them till Gabriel hits the bed, and guides him upwards until they’re both stretched out with Sam between Gabriel’s legs and doing his best to drive Gabriel insane with simply mouth and tongue and slow touches through layers of clothes.

He moves away to Gabriel neck, nipping and sucking bruises in the skin there while Gabriel gasps for air and _keens_. Sam reluctantly frees his hand from Gabriel’s, slides his hands under Gabriel’s shirt sedately. He traces slowly over every inch of skin, occasionally digging in slightly to hear Gabriel let out soft cries. He pinches a nipple in-between his nails, _hard_ , and Gabriel arches upward, gasping. Sam shushes him, whispers praise and endearments, soothes over the newly sore spot. He traces the rest of the way up till his fingers brush Gabriel’s collarbone, and the shirt slides over Gabriel’s head to be abandoned on the floor. Sam retraces his path over Gabriel’s torso with his mouth and his tongue and occasionally his teeth, beautiful dark marks blooming under his work. Gabriel writhes and pleads for Sam to just _get on with it_ , and Sam simply slows his work, lets his lips and teeth linger on the archangel’s collarbone longer than he normally would have, one hand slowly playing with Gabriel’s nipples.

Gabriel’s hands clutch at Sam’s shirt, try to pull him closer or up, put Sam pulls back entirely, holding Gabriel’s wrists in one big hand _tightly_. He holds them over Gabriel’s head and his voice is a low growl when he commands, “Leave them there.” Gabriel swallows, pupils blown wide, and nods. Sam kisses him slowly, deeply, and moves his hand to travel lower, rubbing just under the edge of Gabriel’s jeans.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” Sam murmurs against his skin, sweetly rewarding Gabriel for complying without complaint.

Gabriel whines at the praise, hips canting upwards in wordless pleading. Sam has a feeling that if this were any other night, _he_ would be the one on his back; their clothes would be gone with a snap. Gabriel would’ve been fucking himself on Sam’s dick while Sam was held down, eagle-spread, with the force of his grace. But Gabriel doesn’t like using his grace when they’re doing _this_ , has explicitly told Sam that he probably never would. Sam is okay with that; he’s _more_ than okay with that, with the level of trust Gabriel put in him.

Sam pulls down Gabriel’s jeans and boxers, Gabriel kicking them off from his ankles. He takes a moment to admire the view of Gabriel cock, hard and flushed and bobbing against the angel’s abdomen. Gabriel lets out a small moan, arches in a wanton display of himself, and a little bit of pre-come drips against his stomach. Sam can’t help himself, he just _can’t,_ and swipes a digit through it, brings the fluid to his mouth to taste it. It’s a bitter and salty, but he doesn’t mind. Gabriel whimpers at the sight, and he looks like he’s going insane from not being allowed to _do_ anything.

Sam leans back on his thighs and quickly discards his shirt. He kneels between Gabriel’s legs again, slides his hands up Gabriel’s calves, pushing them up and apart, but pauses, and looks up at Gabriel where he’s shuddering.

“Did you shave?” Sam poses the question in an indifferent tone. Gabriel lets out a small sound that isn’t an answer, so Sam administers a sharp bite to his inner thigh that makes the flesh there jump and Gabriel cry out.

“Y-you seemed t-to like to last time,” Gabriel stammers out around the clever dig of Sam’s fingers in his thighs, the pressure between massaging and bruising.

Sam soothes the bite with his tongue, and meets Gabriel’s eyes when he looks up. “I did,” he allows, “I _do._ But it takes away some of the fun I was going to have later.” Gabriel’s eyes go impossibly darker, and his quick pants of air hitch slightly.

He pushes Gabriel’s legs back and further apart. “Hold them there,” he instructs, and Gabriel obeys, hands shaking just a little.

The storm is picking back up again outside, a crash of thunder and lightning coinciding with another sharp bite to the soft skin of Gabriel’s inner thighs. Gabriel groans, pushes back into it, and Sam holds him still, murmuring soft words of encouragement into his skin as he kitten-licks bites after he administers them. He carefully avoids Gabriel’s cock, though it’s dribbling pre-come all over Gabriel’s stomach and Sam wants to lick it up, wants to see how _desperate_ he can make Gabriel from watching him do it.

He restrains himself, barely, and reaches over Gabriel, digs through the little table by the bed and pulls out the lube. He warms up the bottle a bit before drizzling it over his fingers, and Gabriel watches him with eyes blown wide with pleasure. Sam moves one finger to circle his rim, and Gabriel lets out a moan that sounded like it should have been _please_ , but was cut off when the finger slipped inside him.

Sam takes his sweet time with Gabriel, kneels in the dark with one hand holding him still and the other painstakingly working Gabriel open. He works one finger all the way inside and moves so he just _barely_ brushed against Gabriel’s prostate. He gasps, back trying to bend and his hips trying to grind down while his mouth opens in a beautiful litany of swears in a dozen languages. Sam fucks him slowly with one finger, in and out until he needs to add more lube, and Gabriel _writhes_. Sam repeats the process from the beginning when he adds the second finger, and starts again when he adds the third.

Gabriel is _beautiful_ to watch fall apart. He holds nothing back, whimpering and crying out and making beautiful mewling noises. His arms shake from holding up his legs, tremors running through his entire body. His eyes are closed, head tilted back, and when Sam looks up from where he’s pushing Gabriel open all the marks he’d made on the angel’s skin are displayed like a work of art. His hair is sticking to his forehead, his entire body damp with sweat, as he tries vainly to just hold himself together.

His eyes open just as Sam leans up to lap at the pre-come sitting on his stomach, and Gabriel _breaks_. He releases a sound that’s entirely involuntary and utterly shattered, his head falling back onto the pillows as his eyes shut. Sam keeps lapping it up, fingers stretching Gabriel open and pressing insistently against his prostate just to hear him let loose that broken sound again, the one that tells Sam that he’s done his job, that Gabriel is _ruined_.

“You should see yourself,” Sam whispers his reverent praise into Gabriel’s skin. “You look so gorgeous, sweetheart. So fucking gorgeous.”

Gabriel is shaking, trembling, and he whimpers helplessly when Sam removes his fingers. Sam shucks the rest of his clothes, almost groaning at the release of pressure, before moving up to kiss Gabriel and grind their hips together. Gabriel lets out a moan, pushing back into it, overwhelmed at the feeling of getting _something_ against his cock after so long.

“You good?” Sam has to check, has to make sure that he doesn’t push Gabriel too far, out of fear that he’ll break this new thing they’ve found.

Gabriel nods. “Yeah,” he says and his voice as wrecked as the rest of him.

Sam kisses him again, deep and reverent. He slicks himself up, shuddering, before wrapping Gabriel’s legs around his waist, the angel’s hands staying trembling at his sides, and slowly, _slowly_ pushing in. Gabriel lets out a sob, his hands scrambling at the sheets, and Sam groans as he bottoms out. He rests his head against Gabriel’s, their bodies plastered together. And then he starts moving, not fast but _hard_ , ramming into Gabriel’s prostate every other thrust and the angel thrashes underneath him, breath hitching and sobbing as he clings to Sam’s shoulders, lost and willingly helpless under Sam’s hands.

It doesn’t take them long before they’re coming, Gabriel after the third dead hit on his prostate with a heaving sob of Sam’s name, Sam tumbling over after him. The world blurs, whites out and comes back, still fuzzy around the edges. A sharp crack of lightning brings Sam back further, and he pulls out of Gabriel, limbs faintly shaking, and pulls the archangel close to him. Gabriel is trembling, crying a little bit, and mumbling half-broken things into Sam’s skin. Sam murmurs nothing but praise and affection, wrapping Gabriel in his arms and petting his hair soothingly, not even thinking about the mess.

Gabriel comes back to himself a little while later, eyes still blown wide and still very shaky. “Sam?” his throat is raw and he feels _entirely_ fucked out.

“Gabe?” Sam’s voice holds nothing but absolute love and concern.

Gabriel lets out a quiet little hum of contentment. “I love you,” he murmurs sleepily. He can feel Sam smiling against his skin.

“I love you too, Gabe. I’m gonna go get some stuff to clean us up, okay?”

Gabriel nodded drowsily. Sam was only gone for a minute before he was back, carefully cleaning up the sort-of drying come on Gabriel’s chest. He vanishes again for a couple of minutes, but he comes back, settling in back in his original spot.

“Sam?” Gabriel asks, yawning as he curled against the hunter, wrapping himself between and around his limbs like an octopus.

“Yeah, Gabe?”

“Can we have pancakes for breakfast?”

Sam laughs, very quietly. “We can have pancakes for breakfast,” he affirms, and Gabriel lets out a happy sigh. He burrows into the warmth that is Sam Winchester, and falls asleep. Sam drifts off soon after.

The storm continues to roll, but perhaps a little more quietly.

_Fin._


End file.
